


Under Constraint

by Elias (nightmareStag)



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: A one shot, Birthday Sex, Established Relationship, First time for everything, Kinbaku, M/M, NSFW, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shibari, but never as like, ive written smut before, welp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 11:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14544243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmareStag/pseuds/Elias
Summary: Shikizaya birthday sex with some decorative ropes. Nothing more too it than that.





	Under Constraint

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday my little garbage fire!! I know I posted this on May 5th, but it's three in the morning, and I haven't gone to bed yet so,, yeah.

Work as a whole is more unfulfilling than usual when he knows what he’s doing afterwards. It’s comparable to sending a child to school on a holiday. They would be too excited-- too jittery with the distractions pulling their focus to portray any semblance of productivity. 

 

Haruya misses when Izaya didn’t have any friends, but that’s not entirely true. He may be territorial, but he’s not possibly that selfish. He’s just mourning this time three years ago when he took Izaya to his remote home in Azabu and kept him there, naked and desperate and beautiful, for the entire day and the day after. While Izaya is still taking the two days off, that time is now being split among the now extensive list of those that wished to partake in the celebration. Years ago, no one bothered but Haruya himself; in addition to regular muterances from Akabayashi and that secretary of his. But now, Izaya has a full day of of visitation and gifts to take up his time with people that aren’t Haruya. He thought that people with significant others usually celebrated their birthdays with their friends the day before the actual occasion, but he is nothing if not an exception. Izaya and himself have never been a usual couple either.

 

Either way, when five o’clock finally arrives, Haruya is out of the office in an instant. Their reservation at Rokkasen wasn’t until six, but Haruya was feeling uncharacteristically needy after missing Izaya this morning and not hearing from him all day. When he arrives at Izaya’s Shinjuku apartment, that god awful jacket is hanging across the back of the couch, and he can hear the hair dryer running upstairs. Whether or not Haruya takes the steps too quickly to be considered reserved grace is no one’s business but his own. 

 

Izaya is in his bedroom buttoning up a striped dress shirt when Haruya arrives, and he immediately reaches out for the hem of Izaya’s dress pants, sliding his fingers through the unoccupied belt loop and pressing his face into the crook of his neck. Izaya’s hair is still a little damp in the neck, but he smells clean and fresh, not yet using one of the sophisticated colognes he undoubtedly received throughout the day.

 

“We can’t mess around in this suit. It’s Armani.”

 

His voice is stoically even, but Haruya doesn’t need to see him to know he’s smiling mirthfully.

 

“Happy birthday, Izaya.”

 

“Thank you, Haruya. You should probably start getting ready, though. We have to leave soon.”

 

“Are you packed?”

 

“Of course, love. I’m nothing if not prepared for the weekend.”

 

He doesn’t acknowledge the thrill of possessive adoration that swells at the pet name. Izaya sounds smug, and Haruya finally leans back enough to look at him fully. He looks tired-- fatigue clawing at the underside of his eyes with a determination to overshadow the heaviness of his lashes. But he was still radiant from the fit of his suit to the cut of his grin. His eyes give away his exhaustion, but they also give away the usual relief and adoration that he always looks at Haruya with. 

 

“I’m going to ruin you.”

 

Izaya laughs then, bright and airy. “Oh, I fully expect you to, but-” he punctuates loudly “-we have dinner reservations, and I’m starving.”

 

Haruya steps away from him and shrugs off his white coat. He thinks, for some unknown reason, that Izaya deserves better than the ill-fitted cotton blend that he wears to work. He kisses Haruya exactly one time, chaste and sweet.

 

“I’ll let you get changed.”

  
  
  


The dim lighting of the restaurant softens Izaya’s features. His smile is a little less sharp, eyes look a little less conniving, highlighted by the pillowy glow of the lights around them. Izaya talks slower when it’s just the two of them. He’s trying less to chase away the quiet, more okay with the scrutiny that comes with silence when it comes from Haruya himself. 

 

“I have something for you.” Haruya smiles over the rim of his wine glass.

 

“Oh? And what would that be?”

 

Haruya removes the velveteen box from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. The earrings that sit inside are diamond-square cut and set in gold. He thinks he prefers Izaya in gold rather than silver; partly because the gold brings out the flecks of fire orange in his eyes and partly because all of the gold Izaya owns is from Haruya himself. 

 

“I don’t have enough gold to wear these regularly, Haruya.”

 

Figures that little shit wouldn’t say thank you.

 

“Guess we’ll just have to get you more then, won’t we?”

 

The grin that pulls across his face is romantic and breathless. He was definitely expecting it, Haruya thinks, now that he sees the gold watch and rings already on Izaya’s fingers. 

 

He’s got the earrings in by the time they make it to the car, and Haruya isn’t sure when he managed to slip them in. Regardless, they look as exquisite as he had thought they would have when he purchased them. 

  
  
  
  


Izaya looks  _ delectable  _ in red, and Haruya takes the time to appreciate the way the silk ropes contrast against the milky white of his skin as he ties his arms behind his back. Izaya himself is being surprisingly patient with the pace he’s setting-- rising when needed and twisting enough to assist in the tie-up, but otherwise not offering any sort of resistance or conversation at all aside from the occasional pleased sigh. The bindings come into knots more intricate the farther they travel towards his navel, and Haruya is still taking probably more time than necessary to tie them. He pushes Izaya down gently to tie his ankles to his thighs. When he’s all done, Haruya takes a moment to appreciate the sight. For a minute, he forgets whose birthday it is and that this is supposed to be a gift for Izaya, not himself, but he can’t help the way he looks like a gift all wrapped in red ribbon.

 

“Enjoying the view?” he purrs as though he’s really the one in control, and to a certain degree, maybe he is. 

 

“More than you know.”

 

Haruya grabs Izaya’s chin and pulls his head up before wrapping one hand around the side of his head and the other following the curve of silk around his throat. Izaya is always a little helpless when Haruya kisses him hard and deeply like this-- much preferring teeth that bite at his lips over the intimacy of Haruya’s tongue chasing away the last remnants of the wine he’d been drinking with dinner. 

 

Izaya is pliant under Haruya’s hands and tongue, and he’s both grateful and impressed by his subordination. His hands move then, going to tug the ropes taught around Izaya’s arms, chest, and thighs, all the while rubbing grounding reassurance into the open expanse of his skin. Haruya drops his lips from Izaya’s and turns to kiss bruises back into his neck and collar bones. He knows the neck is Izaya’s weakness and the trill that escapes with the gasp when lips turn to teeth further defend that notion. 

 

Haruya doesn’t draw blood- not yet at least- and not when he’s got all weekend to take him apart little by little and put him together again. There’s no need to rush things, and maybe that’s why Izaya is being as compliant as he is. Normally he’d be demanding that Haruya hurry up, but he seems to be appreciating having Haruya’s attention so fully on him and his pleasure. 

 

Haruya pulls him forward onto his knees with his chest pressed into the mattress. His fingers are cold and slick with lube when they trace the curve of his spine over the ropes and press into the cleft of Izaya’s ass. His legs tense with the initial press of Haruya’s fingers before they give and his body opens with little resistance passed the first digit. Izaya’s groan comes from deep in his chest and is muffled by the way he presses his face into the mattress beneath them. 

 

Haruya decides that simply won’t do, and pulls him back to suspension by his wrists. Whether Izaya is gaping like a fish at the control exerted over him or the slide of Haruya’s second figure into him is irrelevant. His shoulders are tense, toes curled tight as his throat to fight any other sounds from falling from his mouth. He wishes Izaya would just be loud. He’s gonna get there later anyway, and it’s nothing Haruya hasn’t heard before, but he’s always been insistent on being difficult in subtle ways and clinging to his composure as if it’s all he has left. 

 

His blush has spread beautifully from peaks of his cheekbones down his neck and across his shoulders. Each staggered inhale stretches his ribs taught against the rope winding around them. He’s moving slow; he’s pushing his fingers deep enough to stutter Izaya’s breathing, but not anywhere near deep enough to bring any sort of relief with it. His skin is flushing, clammy with the sweat that collects at his brow and furrows with building frustration. 

 

Haruya pushes in a third right when Izaya’s mouth opens to protest the pace. The moan that punches out of him is hot and heavy on the edge of a pant, and it washes over Haruya like a wave. His fingers push in deeper than either of them had expected and the gasp it pulls from Izaya is invigorating. His hips push back against Shiki’s fingers and the hand that clamps to a smack, firm and open-handed on his ass is enough to put any of that to a stop. 

 

“Behave yourself.” 

 

His voice sounds deeper even on his own ears, and Izaya’s legs slide a hair further apart.

 

Haruya pulls Izaya back up and continues to drive his fingers in and out of his body. Izaya is panting on each breath, head dropping as much as the pull on the rope around his neck will allow. He’s still, but he’s clenching against the desire to push his hips into the force of Haruya’s wrist fucking into him. It’s endearing that he listens. Normally he fights tooth and nail and begs for his punishments like the glutton Haruya knows he is, but Izaya is letting him take his time knowing that the rewards will far outweigh the immediate gratification.

 

A wicked idea pulls a grin on Haruya’s face as he slips his fingers out and away from Izaya. He sits down on the bed behind Izaya and strips himself of his shirt. The sigh of relief comes from Izaya with a knowing smile on his face, waiting patiently for the press of Haruya’s hips behind his thighs. He’s ready for it, and the expectation of it and not getting it makes him honest to god growl when he’s pulled into a seated position by his arms. The ropes across his upper back press into Haruya’s expecting chest, and Izaya’s legs are spread open to push against Haruya’s very pant-clad thighs. His hands grab at the juncture of Izaya’s hips and squeeze in appreciation for only a moment before he lubes up his fingers again and reaches over Izaya’s lap; pressing three back inside before he has a chance to complain. Izaya’s breath spills against his lap with force, and Haruya feels it tighten against the ropes binding his chest.

 

“That's just cruel,” he sighs, voice more hoarse than Haruya expects it to be.

 

He doesn't answer Izaya. Instead he grazes the weeping head of Izaya’s cock and latches his teeth next to the rope. He moans earnestly, arching to reach for more. Neither is sure which sensation he wants more of. Haruya, being as generous as he is, gives him all three. He pushes his fingers in deeper, bites a little harder, and gives Izaya a firm few strokes, and the gasp of air that Izaya takes in sounds painful with the resistance his throat gives it. Haruya almost feels guilty when he clamps his hand tight around the base of Izaya’s cock when it starts to throb with his impending orgasm. The sound Izaya makes is pitiful, high in his throat and telling of the verge of tears. 

 

“Is something wrong, Izaya?”

 

“I thought it was  _ my _ birthday.”

 

“Are you not having a good time?”

 

“Oh, I’m just peachy! Wishing we could get to the main event, though.”

 

“And you’re sure that this is what you want?” He just wants to check.

 

“Yes.” Izaya’s answer is immediate and Haruya thinks the blush that spreads back down his neck has more to do with embarrassment than lust. 

 

When Izaya had approached him a few days earlier with an earnest request, it had thrown him for a loop for sure. Anytime that Izaya wanted anything, especially when it involved sex, he always tried to be subtle-- tried to drop hints and wait for Haruya to figure out what it was that he’d wanted himself. But this time, Izaya sat him down and requested outright for possibly the most intimate action two people could perform together.

 

Finally, Haruya lets Izaya go and pushes him until his back hits the mattress. Normally the bindings behind him would get in the way, but the amount of pillows by Izaya’s neck and shoulders offset the pressure of his weight. Haruya takes a moment to admire the pure unfiltered  _ want _ that swallows the lust in Izaya’s eyes when he steps away from the bed. Izaya’s legs fall open in a blatant invitation while Haruya removes his pants and returns to the bed. 

 

There’s a certainty-- a smile both too coy and too shy on Izaya’s face for how often they’ve had sex, but this in particular is a first for them. Almost four years of monogamous relations, and still, it hadn’t come up until a few days ago; but now that Haruya was here, slicking his cock directly without the barrier of a condom, he sympathizes a bit more with Izaya’s impatience. The idea of barebacking Izaya is something that Haruya had entertained in the way that he has entertained entering a civil partnership; like it was just a sign of his possessive nature-- something that would never come to light because of the amount of convincing Izaya would need to agree. 

 

Stranger things have happened.

 

Izaya is staring heat and expectation into Haruya’s eyes when he lines himself up. One hand finds its way back up to Izaya’s throat where it rests against his pulse point. The other one grips solidly on his hip and in one fluid movement, Haruya is sliding forward against the resistance of Izaya’s body. It’s different when there’s not the barrier of the condom, and it’s not just limited the the emotional closeness that comes with it. Izaya is hotter, and Haruya absolutely glides into him. Izaya’s eyes flutter close as he continues to take inch by inch until Haruya’s hips press against Izaya’s ass, fully sheathed inside of him. 

 

“Smoother than I thought,” Shiki says absentmindedly, but it’s deeper and more thorough, he thinks.

 

“Fuck me.” Izaya keens again on the manic edge of desperation. “Move-  _ God _ \- fuck me.”

 

The begging is new, but it’s definitely a welcomed kind of new. Haruya indulges with one firm thrust, hard and deep enough to punch a moan loud and gorgeous from Izaya. He’s sliding forward again, easier without the usual pull of the latex, to fill Izaya again. His mouth falls open on this one, and Haruya brings his lips down to kiss the desperation from his lips. The pace he sets is brutal, rough, and merciless, and Izaya is louder than he’s been since the beginning. He’s never particularly quiet, but now he’s screaming his ecstasy into the way Haruya is devouring his lips and tongue. 

 

He leans back again, and grips Izaya’s throat enough to limit his oxygen intake, but not enough to completely cut it off, just the way Izaya likes. Every full push of his hips is met by Izaya clenching tighter on his cock, and when Haruya rams the head into Izaya’s prostate, his back shoots far enough off the bed that his wrists are no longer touching the soft of the mattress. So he does it again and again, and each time, the flush of Izaya’s skin gets deeper, and his moans get more manic and desperate. 

 

His mantra is begging for more, begging for Haruya to squeeze tighter or fuck him harder. He looks incredible. The red ropes were definitely a good move, but it’s more than that. Their presence represents the trust that Izaya has for Haruya and how mutual that respect needs to be. His lips are puffy with the way Haruya continues to bite at them, and the hickeys on his neck and shoulder are faring quite similarly. Izaya looks incredible with the imprint of Haruya’s teeth bruised into the pale skin of his shoulder, and the lust and adoration in his eyes steals the breath from Haruya’s lungs in the same way it has for years now. 

 

Haruya’s orgasm is sudden and blinding, but he fucks Izaya through it like he’d requested. He doesn’t know whether it was a lucky coincidence or if maybe Izaya’s got a kink for it, but he’s coming not even moments later, screaming Haruya’s name like it’s a prayer. He’s tight; far too tight in the way he’s squeezing for Haruya to fight the edge of pain from the over stimulation, but Izaya is blissed out in a way that he’s never seen him before. 

 

Izaya is pulled into a seated position on his lap and slumps like dead weight while Haruya makes quick work of removing the knots binding Izaya. Call him old fashioned, but the aftercare was always his favorite part. He massages the feeling back into Izaya’s wrists and takes the time to kiss the spots where the rope burn is going to bruise tomorrow. Izaya slowly rises to kiss Haruya again, but its not charged like it was when they arrived. Now it’s the simple press of lips that speak louder than words. 

 

Haruya lays him down again and finally pulls out. Izaya’s own hands wander to explore the space in his body that Haruya had just occupied. Izaya giggles helplessly and deliriously when his fingers sink in with a squelch, and Haruya decides that he needs to step away from the situation before he jumps Izaya again. 

 

“That was different from what I’d expected,” Izaya sighs when Haruya returns from running the bath. “I didn’t think I’d be able to feel you throb like that.”

 

He picks him up and carries him to the bathroom. “Did you like it?”

 

“You’re never wearing a condom again,” he laughs, breathless and still a little hoarse.

 

And Haruya joins him, pushing air out through his nose more on love than any real exasperation. He lowers Izaya into the bath and climbs in afterwards, pulling Izaya back into his lap. 

 

“Clean up is gonna take longer then.” 

 

“‘T’s fine,” Izaya says dreamily again before he’s sucking his way from Haruya’s jaw down to his collarbone. “Can we go again? We’re already here.”  

 

“This is gonna turn you into a monster,” Haruya murmurs. “Do you think you deserve it?”

 

“It  _ is _ my birthday.”

 

He’s never planned on denying him the request in the first place, but there’s something about the glimmer of mischief in his eyes that makes him want to push Izaya to bliss again. 

 

“So it is, Izaya.”


End file.
